


this knife can save your life

by bullshippin



Series: Kingsman: The Secret Service Drabbles [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, i like to drabble and never finish any longfic, i wasn't really sure how to tag the pairing so shhhh, there's a mention of blood so if that makes you queezy you might not wanna read this, this is kind of au-y, this is set before all the candidates were eliminated, you-know-what never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bullshippin/pseuds/bullshippin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If someone would’ve told Eggsy just a few short weeks ago that his death would come in the form of a razor sharp <i>leg</i>, of all things, he probably would’ve laughed at the belland and told them exactly what he thought about that.<br/>But this is his life now, he supposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this knife can save your life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildleaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildleaves/gifts).



> Sorry y'all, this is unbeta'd because I wrote it as a surprise for my usual beta. But it's a short little drabble so I don't think it'll much matter. I'll definitely add more to this series and you can follow me on Tumblr (wntrscldr) for updates. Thank you if you took the time (albeit a short amount) to read this.

If someone would’ve told Eggsy just a few short weeks ago that his death would come in the form of a razor sharp _leg,_ of all things, he probably would’ve laughed at the belland and told them exactly what he thought about that.

But this is his life now, he supposes.

_‘It’s a simple mission,”_ Harry had informed in his matter-of-fact tone he so favored, “ _you’re just dropping in to get some information off a hard-drive in Valentine’s study.”_

_“If it’s so simple, why don’t you send one of the other candidates?”_ Eggsy had known he’d failed in keeping the smirk off his face as he’d waited expectantly.

_“I don’t trust them like I trust you.”_

He thinks for a moment that’s the worst part of this whole ordeal is that the Galahad had put his faith in him and Eggsy’d let him down. Failure after miserable failure. ( _Eggsy, protect your mother. Eggsy, kill the dog. Eggsy, it’s a simple mission.)_ And that’s stupid because as the blood runs from his chest in rivulets, he should have bigger things to worry about. But that’s what runs through his mind like a broken record; the way his mentor would look, knowing he’d been taken out on a simple job. Gone, just like his father.

It had been going so well, was the thing. The set distractions for the guards went through without error, he’d snuck right in the front door. When he’d turned to leave, though, the information heavy in his pocket, an alarm had gone off the second he passed the threshold back in to the hallway. Gazelle hadn’t been the first one to show up, either, he’d successfully neutralized nearly 9 guards before she’d shown up, running in gracefully and living up to her name.

The woman was fucking _swift_.

Gazelle’s prosthetic is anything but a dull pressure on his chest, ripping in to his skin like butter, pain shooting through his extremities like nothing he’s ever experienced before. There are galaxies behind his eyelids when his eyes inevitably droop closed. He can hardly manage to open his eyes again, but when he does, the impossible happens.

Eggsy swears it happens so fucking fast, one second there’s 130 pounds of pure woman pressing in to his chest and then there’s a gold knife thrown from across the dining room ripping in to her neck.

She stumbles backwards as he shuts his eyes and draws in a wet, harsh breath.

He hears her falling in to one of the tables but the sound of her crashing is the last thing Eggsy is focused on.

There are long fingers wrapped in the lapels of his jacket, the smell of mint washing over his senses as the words _“thank fucking God,”_ are uttered over the wooshing in his ears.

It’s some work of God that he musters up the strength to open his eyes again and he’s half-expecting Merlin to be looking down at him with that condescending glare. To his surprise, it’s Harry that looks down at him with—fucking hell, is that _worry_?— painting his features, kindling in his eyes.

(It’s absolutely ridiculous that he still feels a jolt in his stomach despite the foot wide gash across his chest; heinous that he rallies enough energy to let out the tiniest huff of laughter known to man.)

(It’s worth it when a half smile breaks through Harry’s face, though).

“As lovely as it is to be your knight in shining armor, Eggsy, it’d be much appreciated if you had as much regard for your own life as you do for that damned dog of yours,” The soft upturn of his mouth is still there though, relief evident in his eyes, the light playing up the amber flecks in his irises. Harry’s hands tighten on the jacket. “Please, don’t do it again.” He doesn’t have the strength to nod his head but he hopes that Harry just _knows._

Then the weight at his side is gone, the voices of the campus doctor and Merlin making themselves known as they bust in to the hallway, feeling himself being lifted with hardly a ‘huff’. Harry’s a hell of a lot stronger than he looks, Eggsy thinks through the thick fog in his mind.

“We’ve got evac on the way. Charlie has the EC-175. We’ll be able to treat by 15:50 if we make good time.” Merlin’s voice is strictly business.

“He’s got some major bleeding here,” the doctor prods at him and the arms around him tighten just a bit, “but he’ll recover if we can get him out of here.” He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, almost in sync with the chest he feels against his left arm.

He may not be dead, but he’s totally _fucked_.

**Author's Note:**

> “And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.” -Louis Erdrich, _The Painted Drum LP_


End file.
